Southshore by Sheri S. Tepper

Author:Sheri S. Tepper
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780575116184
Publisher: Gollancz
Published: 2011-09-29T07:00:00+00:00

‘We’re called the Treeci,’ he told her, working the sculling oar as they moved down the coast, westward, the Cheevle in tow. ‘Have you heard of us?’

‘I have,’ she admitted. ‘There are Treeci on a place called Strinder’s Isle.’

‘Oh, there are Treeci on half the islands in the River,’ he said, making an expression that was very smilelike with a cock of head and flirt of eyes.

‘That’s possibly an exaggeration,’ said the human person. He was a stout, elderly man with white hair that blew around his head like fluff.

‘Possibly. Or possibly an understatement, so far as that goes. What was that Thraish trying to do to you, eat you?’ The Treeci turned to Medoor Babji once more.

‘She had Tears of Viranel wrapped up in a leaf. She wanted to put them on me and then eat me. Tears don’t work on the Noor, though. Our skins are too dark.’

‘I’ve heard that. Had you heard that, Burg?’

‘Oh, it’s probably written down somewhere. In the archives over on Bustleby. It’s probably written down there.’

‘You know about the Noor?’

‘We have histories, young lady,’ said Burg. ‘We aren’t savages. We’re literate, human and Treeci both.’

‘But where – where did you come from?’

‘The same place you did, originally. Probably for the same reason. Trying to get away from the senseless conflict over there.’ He jerked a thumb to the north. ‘Long ago. At the time of the Thraish-human wars. They were eating humans then. It’s a wonder they haven’t eaten them all by now.’

Medoor Babji shook her head. ‘No. No, we have a – they have what my mother calls a detente. An agreement. They eat dead people. Northshore dead people, not Noor dead people.’

The Treeci spat. ‘Carrion eaters,’ he gasped. ‘So I have heard, but I find it hard to believe, Medoor Babji.’

‘Oh, come, Saleff, the Thraish were eating human dead during the wars. You know that.’

‘Out of desperation, yes, but …’

‘I presume they are no less desperate now.’

‘They could do what we did.’

‘We’ve talked about this a thousand times,’ the human said irritably. ‘The ones who could do what you did, did what you did. The ones who were left couldn’t do it. They had offspring who also couldn’t do it. The Thraish could no more eat fish and become flightless today than they could become sweet-natured and stop shitting all over their living space. It’s called selective breeding, and they’ve done it.’

It was only argument, not even addressed to Medoor Babji, but the words rang inside her, setting up strange reverberations. Why? Something fled across her mind, trailing a scent of mystery and marvel. What? She tried to follow it, but it eluded her. She concentrated. Nothing. At least she would remember the words. Selective breeding. Those who could do it, did it. She would think about those words later.

‘You know all about them?’ Medoor Babji asked. ‘How do you know all that?’

‘Oh, some of us human islanders sneak back to Northshore every now and then. Young ones of us, boys with time on their hands and adventure in their blood.

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